


The Midnight Runner

by thinlizzy2



Category: Askewniverse, Chasing Amy (1995)
Genre: Angst, Multi, Post-Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-10-30 06:42:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10871247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinlizzy2/pseuds/thinlizzy2
Summary: AU in which they do have that threesome after all.  And it goes exactly as well as Alyssa knew it would.





	The Midnight Runner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [libraralien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraralien/gifts).



Alyssa Jones shimmies out from under the covers, careful not to jostle either of the men sleeping on each side of her. It isn't easy to delicately pick her way out of the bedroom without waking anyone up, gathering up bits and pieces of her clothing as she goes and being careful not to take anything that isn't hers that she might need to return. It is, however, an art that get easier with practice. And Alyssa is nothing if not experienced with the Midnight Run. 

That's what she had decided, years ago, to call this little disappearing act of hers, even though it's usually closer to dawn by the time she takes off. She refuses to call it the Walk of Shame. She isn't ashamed, not of enjoying sex and not of avoiding awkward mornings. She used to make up terms to prove that too; she's called it the Slut Strut, Whoreambulation, the Sidepiece Out. But people had started laughing a little too hard when she rattled off that list of names, while she was finding it less and less funny. In the end she had decided to go with something a little more neutral because what the fuck did she have to prove to anyone anyway? 

She gets dressed in the kitchen, using the streetlights outside the window for illumination. Shit, she's grabbed Banky's belt by mistake. _Damn skinny bastard_ she thinks, and is annoyed with herself when the thought makes her tear up. She rubs at her eyes and then slings the belt over the back of one of the chairs. She'll leave her own behind, a sacrifice to the concept of this whole failed experiment. She got it off some girl in another regrettable threesome anyway, and there is no fucking way that she's going back into that bedroom to look for it. There are way too many Feelings lying in wait in there, and if she gets any of them on her then she'll never be clean again. 

Even now, the odds are against her. 

There is a bite mark beside her right nipple. The indentations the teeth made are still livid and red, and there is bruising forming around them. She rubs at the spot, but of course that does nothing. 

Holden has never bitten her hard enough to bruise during sex before. He's never done anything so roughly that it left marks hours later. The most he's done is nibble her earlobes, nip playfully at her neck. He'd lightly slapped her ass when she asked for for it and given tiny little love-bites to the soft skin of her inner thighs; that was all. Still she knows it was him. When there are sex injuries after a three-way it's almost always the boyfriend. 

She does what she can for herself with the kitchen sink and her shitty compact mirror. She doesn't want to look _good_. Or rather she does, of course, she does, but that isn't going to happen tonight. She just wants to look not-bad enough to discourage any good Samaritans from trying to help her on her way home. The next few days and weeks and probably months are going to be shitty enough without starting them off with a sickly-sweet dose of some asshole's pity, and if nothing else then the universe owes her the chance to skip that. 

She takes a deep breath and looks around one final time. Holden's kitchen is always disgusting. There are dishes streaked with brown both in the sink and stacked beside it, forsaken bananas left to go black on the table, an open bag of chips actively going stale on the counter. This whole place is gross and she's going to miss it terribly. 

And now all she has left to do is leave. So there's no reason at all for her to be creeping back towards that ominous bedroom door. But as last night proved, Alyssa doesn't need a reason to do a fucking stupid thing. So she cracks open the door, willing it not to squeak, and stuffs her first into her mouth to keep from screaming as she peers inside. 

Holden is fast asleep on his back, because of course he is. No matter what position he falls asleep in, he always ends up like this: spread out like melting butter. She used to joke that he was going to wake up one morning and discover that she had tied him to all four corners of the bed and he'd always reply that that was more of a promise than a threat. 

It hits Alyssa like a punch to the gut that they're never going to make that joke again. 

Banky is curled up in the fetal position on his side, a shrimp instead of a starfish. She wonders if that's _his_ usual sleeping position. It's weird; when he's awake he's so loud and obnoxious and clearly tries his best to fill up the entire room with his particular energy. But here he is asleep, looking like he wants to take up as little space as possible. 

In fact, if Alyssa didn't know better she'd swear he looks like a man who's trying to hide. 

She's so startled by this that it takes her a moment to realize that Banky's eyes have opened. 

For a long moment, they just stare at each other. Alyssa can hear her own breath rasping in her chest as Banky breathes in and out in unison, neither one of them able to break their gaze. During sex they'd barely looked at each other at all; they'd worked damn hard to prevent it, actually. But here they are now, locked on to each other as tight and intimate as any physical embrace. 

She had liked him when they first met. She'd forgotten that, but she remembers it now. 

_I'm sorry_. She mouths the words at him, not sure what she's apologizing for but hoping he'll understand nonetheless. _I'm so sorry_. 

He nods slowly and mouths something back. It's either _me too_ or _fuck you_. There's no way to be sure which. 

So she just bows her head, accepting both possibilities. And then she turns to go.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for earlgreymanatee for Night on Fic Mountain 2017. Earlgreymanatee, thank you for your great prompts. I hope you enjoyed this!


End file.
